#cr vilya

Reunion

(MAJOR CRITICAL ROLE SPOILERS)

(NO REALLY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IN C2E107 STOP READING NOW)

Vilya is almost unable to cast Transport Via Plants, her hands are shaking so much. Perhaps it’s only the fact that she’s cast this spell once per day for the last five days that lets her do it, the words and gestures coming to her in a grace much more fluid than usual.

A portal opens, and her breath catches in her throat as she sees her home. Not the village of Vo on Rumblecusp, but Zephrah.The sunset above the wind-swept cliffs, the amphitheater where the Voice of the Tempest addresses her people.

And the Voice is there now - a woman, her exact age hard to pin down like many powerful druids; the multicolored mantle of the Tempest laying comfortably across her shoulders. Curving antlers resting atop a long mane of bright red hair.

Vilya takes a shaky step forward. As much as she wants to stand there and admire the scene and let the details wash over her, she has exactly six seconds to step through or wait another day. And there is no way that she can wait another day. There is no way that she can wait another second.

The Voice’s face has the weathery look of someone who spends most of her time outdoors, freckles dotting her cheeks and bright green eyes widening at the sigh before her. Vilya’s first thought is she looks so much like her father. A hair’s breadth behind that thought - She looks so much like me. 

She is running, and Vilya is running, and she can’t see through the tears. It doesn’t matter. She knows exactly where her daughter is. Vilya’s arms close around Keyleth’s shoulders and she squeezes, tight, tighter, never letting go, never leaving again.

“Mom,” Keyleth says through tears, her head buried against Vilya’s shoulder. “Mom. You’re home.”

“I’m so sorry,” Vilya says, knowing that she’s holding Keyleth too tightly, and not caring. She doesn’t think Keyleth cares either. “I’m sorry it took me this long. I’m sorry I left you alone.” Vilya kisses the top of Keyleth’s head, resting her chin there like she did when Keyleth was a child. Oh, my girl. My little girl, all grown up.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I - it’s a long story. I’m sosorry, Keyleth. I never meant to do this. I never meant-”

Keyleth takes a shuddering breath. “I know. I know, Mom. I’m just - I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Vilya admits. She, too, takes a deep shuddering breath, fear and anxiety threatening to creep back in. “Your father - is he -”

“Vilya.”

She’d know that voice anywhere. Korrin, Korrin, Wildmother bless me, he’s still alive, and she turns, hands still clutching Keyleth’s arms in case this is somehow an illusion -

But it isn’t. He’s there, and his face holds the same incandescent joy and disbelief that was on Keyleth’s.

Vilya flings herself into her husband’s arms and starts crying all over again. A moment later, Keyleth presses herself against Vilya’s back, so that she is thoroughly squished between her husband and her daughter. She doesn’t mind in the least.

She doesn’t know how long the three of them stand there together, but it can’t possibly be long enough to make up for all the years she was gone. But after a time, she feels her legs start to buckle under all of the emotion, and she has to pull away and sit down on one of the nearby benches.

Korrin takes one side of her, and Keyleth the other. They each take one of her hands. Vilya is home. At long last, she is home.